


Every Dog has its Day

by RadioactiveDeLorean



Series: Stangst drabbles [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Blood, Injury, Stangst, Take me to a psychiatrist, Why do I enjoy writing stangst?, there's something wrong with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 22:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10706751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadioactiveDeLorean/pseuds/RadioactiveDeLorean
Summary: The man Stan sold the pugs to wasn't happy about them. Stan ends up being stabbed and struggles back to the Shack.Done for a prompt onMy Tumblr





	Every Dog has its Day

Stan’s hand left a bloody smear across the bark of the tree as he stumbled forward. He laughed bitterly to himself. He should have known that something like this would happen eventually. He’d only gone into town for a few groceries and had somehow run into Santiago, the man he’d shifted a load of cheap pug puppies onto. Apparently something in the DNA of the pugs told the dealers that they weren’t purebred - Stan guessed there was some French Bulldog or maybe Boxer in there somewhere. As the pugs had grown larger and less like large furry potatoes, that small difference had become more obvious. He’d been confronted on his way home from the store by the man. Since the pugs weren’t purebreds, they had been worth a considerably smaller amount of money, something Santiago wasn’t happy about. There’d been an argument and Stan had ended up with a knife in his ribcage. He’d ended up leaving the groceries behind.

 

Stan coughed, sending small droplets of blood flying from his mouth onto the grass below his feet. He groaned and continued to trudge forwards, his hand still gripping the wound tightly. Blood had soaked into his shirt and jacket, permanently ruining both. That suit had cost money. If anything, Stan was more pissed about his suit being ruined than the injury in his side. He kept one hand out to support himself against the trees as he passed by. The Shack wasn’t far ahead; he should be able to make it before he collapsed.

 

His breath was ragged and shallow. His head spun. His legs felt weak beneath him. Stan stumbled and had to lean against the trunk of a nearby tree to stop himself toppling over. He coughed again, more blood rising in his throat and spilling down his chin, staining the front of his shirt. He gasped for breath. His fingers clenched tightly around his wound, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood. His heart pounded in his ears. He took a shuddering breath and forced himself to keep walking.

 

He continued to stumble forwards. Eventually the trees thinned out and the Shack came into view. Stan felt relief flood through him. He automatically took a few quick steps forwards away from the woods. His legs buckled underneath him and he collapsed in the dirt. He fell to his hands and knees, gasping and shuddering for breath. He tried to get back up, only to have his legs melt under his weight. He fell flat onto his stomach, pain flaring up along his side. He used his arms to drag his body forward across the dirt towards the Shack. He left a bloody streak on the ground behind him.

 

Once Stan got to the door, he grabbed onto the wall and pulled himself up, clinging onto the door for support. He turned the handle and the door swung open. Stan fell forwards into the hall with a thud, letting out a sharp cry at the shot of agony in his side. His body was racked with harsh, bloody coughs.

 

“Stan?” He could hear his brother call from his bedroom on the right. “Is that you?”

 

“Y-yeah,” Stan cursed silently at the way his voice faltered. He grabbed onto the wall and forced himself to stand up. He swayed on his feet, feeling the full effect of the blood loss.

 

Ford must have noticed the change in his brother’s usually firm voice. “You okay?”

 

“Just peachy!” Stan called back. He leaned forwards as his body shook with a fresh wave of coughs. Blood splattered onto the floorboards. His legs buckled beneath him again and he fell to the floor. His fez fell from his head and rolled across the floor towards the kitchen doorway. 

 

“Stanley!?” Ford got up from his seat at the desk and walked out into the hallway. He froze in his tracks at the sight. “Oh my god...Stan!” Ford was on his knees by his brother’s side in an instant, rolling him onto his back and pressing both six-fingered hands firmly against the wound on his side. “What happened?!”

 

Stan grinned weakly despite the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Turns out Santiago doesn’t like p-pugs that aren’t purebred. He stabbed me w-when I was on my way back from … from the store.”

 

Ford bit back the sarcastic comment his brain formed. Keeping one hand on the wound, he reached out and grabbed the phone on the table with the other. He dialled 911. “Hello?!”

 

_ “911 what’s your emergency?” _

 

“I need an ambulance, my brother’s been stabbed!” Ford blurted out. “618 Gopher Road, hurry!”

 

The operator informed Ford that an ambulance was on its way and he tossed the phone aside, not bothering to hang it back up on the hook. He turned his attention back to Stan, petrified to see his brother’s eyes sliding shut. “No no no Stan! Keep your eyes open! C’mon, look at me!” He put a bloody hand on the side of Stan’s face. “Come on!”

 

Stan blinked feebly. God, he hated feeling so damn pathetic. “Calm down… Poindexter,” he rasped. “‘M not going anywhere. I’ve had worse than this, trust m-me.”

 

“That’s not the point, Stan!” Ford exclaimed. Tears stung the corner of his eyes and ran down his face. His heart thudded in his chest as his mind went into panic-mode. “You can’t pass out, you hear me!? I won’t let you!”

 

Stan mustered as much energy as he could and lifted his arm up, resting his hand on Ford’s cheek. He wiped his brother’s tears away with a bloody thumb. Ford held Stan’s hand in one of his own. Ford couldn’t stop himself as he let out a sob. Stan grinned weakly. “It’ll be okay, Poindexter.”

 

Ford grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut, trying to hold back tears. His hands trembled. His eyes flew open as Stanley started shaking and coughing weakly, more blood running from his mouth. “S-Stan?!”

 

Stan’s eyes were slipping shut again. Ford let go of Stan’s hand and his brother’s arm hit the floor with a dull thud. Ford pressed both his hands down on Stan’s side again. “Stanley don’t you d-dare close your eyes!”

 

Stanley didn’t respond. His eyes slid shut and his breathing continued to come in shallow gasps. He could hear sirens in the distance rapidly approaching. All he could focus on was how shallow Stan’s breath was and how much blood soaked his brother’s clothes. Ford bent down low over his brother’s body, his shoulders shaking with fresh sobs. 

  
“S-Stanley, please… wake up…”

**Author's Note:**

> Like the first one, this was never meant to be thought out properly or in depth or anything. It was done purely as a ficlet for a prompt.
> 
> Characters are probably OOC.


End file.
